


The path of the righteous man

by mimosa (Error305_Proxy)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Error305_Proxy/pseuds/mimosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mafia AU, in which Q is the newly transferred Quartermaster, and 007 plays the not-so-reluctant babysitter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In this business

**Author's Note:**

> "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men" - Ezekiel 25:17, as quoted in Pulp Fiction by Jules Winsfield

As a general rule, in his business hardly anybody lives to see their 30th birthday. Q, as he is known in the business, finds that a difficult concept to wrap his mind around.

Q has opportunities to get out. He has many of them. He chooses to stay because he thinks he can beat the odds. He lives to be the exception to the rule.

Q is in a strange business. It encompasses a great number of industries: Garbage disposal, nursing homes, artificial plants, restaurants, even accountants. It’s generally known as the business of the mafia. The mob business. The underground.

Q was based in Bedfordshire before he was transferred to London. Well, he’s not so much transferred as requested, by the people heading up the London business. 

After all, Bedfordshire has never quite bought in so much revenue as the operations run in London. Nowhere in Europe really compares to London. Not since Silva was taken out and a new head of operations was put in.

London has the double-oh division, nowhere else in Europe has that advantage.

On the train to London Q muses about just what his position in the business is. He’s well-known to the right people, of that he is certain. Otherwise the head of operations would never have made the call to request his presence in London in the first place. Yet Q supposes it speaks of his position when his entire life can be uprooted by a simple phone call, which he knows for a fact did not last longer than 5 minutes, without consulting him.

In fact, when he was told he was transferring to London, it was not framed in the form of a question. It was simply a statement, made by his boss, saying that there’s a train ticket for him to be picked up at the station and there will be somebody waiting for him in London.

Q brought with him his laptop and a suitcase full of gadgets that would not have passed airport security no matter how many people he bribes. He doesn’t bring any changes of clothes. Q has thus learned that in the business the way one dresses is important, and because every region tends to have their own dress code, there is little transferability in wardrobes.

Q looks forward to the idea of getting an entirely new wardrobe and being about to finance the whole thing without having to take on debt.

The business may be brutal, but it pays well.

Q is paid quite handsomely for what he does, which is a big part of why he stays in the business. He’s not very ambitious in life, but he certainly enjoys certain luxuries in life that having an abundant amount of money helps. Q is a firm believer in the theory that more is better than less, and while there are a number of high-paying professions he could take up, given his skill set, he has chosen to stick with the business. Q finds everyday life mundane, and enjoys a challenge once in a while.

As a rule Q doesn’t sleep on trains. He doesn’t read either, because he’s damaged his eyes already and doesn’t want to make things worse. He doesn’t really do anything but stay in his own head, which causes him to venture into melancholic musings.

He is glad to get off the train in London. It’s not really too long of a train ride, but long enough that Q knows he needs to stop having some of these thoughts circling in his mind.

There’s supposed to be somebody waiting for him, but Q doesn’t know who. He wonders if this could be a part of the test, first step: identifying your ally in a crowded public space. Q wonders if London knows that he never does any fieldwork.

They probably do.

So Q does the smart thing, he finds a relatively un-crowded corner and stands until the majority of the people getting off the train has dispersed, then scan over the people loitering about. It’s a poor strategy, but Q doesn’t have the patience to pull up a facial recognition program or hack into the station’s CCTV surveillance.

He doesn’t expect to see one of the double-ohs sitting on a bench looking bored out of his mind. It’s too good to be a coincidence, so Q decides he should at least walk over and introduce himself.

As he sits down on the bench, the man turns and gives him a look as if he’s got no business sitting anywhere near him, but turns back to gazing at the tracks without another word. Q thinks it’s strange that the man doesn’t recognize him on sight, but thinks nothing of it.

“Always makes me feel a little melancholy, tracks leading to nowhere, people seeking to go places with no real purpose. The inevitability of human nature, don’t you think? What do you see?” Q turns to look at the man as he speaks, but he simply looks annoyed more than anything else.

“Bloody train tracks.” The man says and moves to stand, “Excuse me.”

“007.” Q says and hears a satisfying sign of annoyance coming from the man next to him, “I’m London’s new Quartermaster.”

“You must be joking.” 007, as the man is known in the business, replies with a disbelieving smile of amusement. 

“Why? Because I’m not in a lab coat?” Q asks, baiting the other man.

“Because you still have spots.” 007 spits out.

Q gives an amused huff of breath, “My complexion is hardly relevant.”

“Your competence is.”

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.”

“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.”

“I hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.” Q is baiting the man now, there’s no doubt of it. He has not been so amused in a very long time. Bedfordshire was hardly the most happening place for people in his business.

“Oh, so why do you need me?” 

Q is certain that James meant to be sarcastic with the question, but he could hardly resist the opportunity.

“Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.” Q says after a little sigh, as if regretting this fact. In fact he does regret it a little. As their Quartermaster, Q has been trying to make recommendations about moving most of the mob's criminal operations into the cyber realm, it is much neater, and involves fewer casualties. But he supposes this would end up putting assassins like 007 out of a job, and it would almost be irresponsible to release such a dangerous man out to society. 

“Or not pulled,” 007 turns and for the first time looks at Q and actually sees him, “It’s hard to know which in your pajamas.” 

Q turns his head a little to get a better view of 007’s expression. He’s not quite sure if he’s satisfied with what he sees.

“Q…”

“007.” They shake hands briefly, and Q knows that he shouldn’t be surprised at the callousness of the other man’s palm, but he is nonetheless a little taken aback. He has shaken the hands of a killer before, but never a double-oh.

“My car is parked outside. M would like to see you.” 007 says, “And the name’s Bond. James Bond.”

“So I’ve heard.” Q stands up the same moment as 007 does. If the other man is expecting to hear Q’s name then he will be severely disappointed. 

When you’re in the business it’s difficult not to hear about 007. Perhaps the most famous of the double-ohs employed under the London branch. The tales of 007 is the stuff of legends. Perhaps because of the relatively short life-span of the average person in the business, 007 himself has become some kind of legend.

In the end, everyone is a gossip. So when words travel from London to Bedfordshire, things become a little distorted.

“I heard he killed off the Sameson family with just a hunting knife and nothing else.”

“I heard he’s slept with the Mario’s wife, and lived to tell the tale.”

“I heard he’s slept with Mario himself.”

“I heard…”

Q knows better to believe everything he hears, of course. But he also knows that all gossip have some grain of truth in them. He’s seen videos and photos of 007’s work first hand, of course, when his curiosity had gotten too much. But the man himself is not quite what Q had pictured.

Q smirks as he gets in the car. Then again, he’s probably not what 007 had pictured either.


	2. Tell me something I don’t know

M looks younger in person than in Q’s computer files. He looks less cold, and Q almost forgets that he’s talking with a killer for the most of the meeting.

Q supposes that’s precisely what makes M so dangerous.

The meeting was standard, M gave Q a rundown of their current operations, which is about half of what Q has uncovered by himself and probably about a third of their actual operations. Q’s job, for now, is to make sure they stay a step ahead of whatever organization is tracking them. Be it other crime rings, Scotland yard, or Interpol. Q needs to keep an untraceable record of their dealings that can be destroyed remotely if need be, and he needs to set up a secure method of communications. M wants all of this down in a week. Q thinks he can probably get it done in three days.

He keeps the last bit of information to himself.

He is, however, a little bit surprised when M tells him that 007 will be acting as his security until further arrangements can be made. Q somehow gets the feeling that it has very little to do with him and everything to do with the rumor about 007 being not entirely stable enough to go into the fieldwork.

Q has been given an apartment in London, furnished to an incredibly lavish standard that Q is not accustomed to. 007 follows leads him up the elevator and into the apartment, then proceeds to settle down on the couch in front of the flat-screen without a word.

“I need to start working.” Q says as he starts to set up his laptop and various pieces of equipment on the dining table. “I don’t exactly have time to entertain.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not here to be entertained by you.” 007 says without batting an eyelash. He glances up when 007 turns on the TV, which is apparently already hooked up to cable.

“What are you here for exactly?” Q has already started coding by now. He’s glad that the flat has wifi at decent speed.

“Security. I thought M told you.” 

“I wasn’t aware you would be staying at my flat.” Q’s fingers are flying over the keyboard at such a speed that they are nothing but a blur.

“I won’t be.” 007 sounds amused, but doesn’t turn from the TV, “You’re staying at mine.”

It speaks to Q’s astonishment that he actually stops typing briefly to think this new information over.

“Why can’t I stay by myself?” Q frowns, and mentally kicks himself for not recognizing the address as the one he has on file for 007.

“You know our last Quartermaster was murdered in his bed,” James sounds exasperated as if he’s speaking to a child, “It’s for security reasons, and mostly M doesn’t trust you.”

“Doesn’t trust you, more like.” Q mutters under his breath but doesn’t say anything. Even if he hadn’t hacked the police records after the brutal murder of the last Quartermaster, he had seen enough pictures splashed across the newspaper front-pages that he really doesn’t need another reminder.

Q doesn’t bring up the matter of the shared flat or the sleeping arrangements. There are enough rumors spread about 007 that he doesn’t want to have to deal with that mess before he has to.

Q is, however, surprised at just how normal 007 seems to be, considering all the murdering that he’s supposed to have done. 007 spends about 10 minutes flipping through the channels twice before deciding on a movie. He switches to another TV show about half way through the movie during the second commercial break. He briefly watches the news, and scoffs as the news anchor announces that there was a successful drug bust earlier in the day that resulted in three arrests.

“Amateurs.” Q is pretty sure he hears 007 mutter just as he switch the channel in disgust.

“I’m hungry.” Q announces as he adds the finishing touches to the program that he has developed for MI6. It’s a communication server that will allow encrypted messages to be sent to various users even through its own network system so that even without wifi they will be able to receive messages.

“There’s food in the fridge.” 

“There’s an apple and … what looks like half an onion in here.” Q grimaces and closes the door to the fridge. He opens the freezer and rolls his eyes at the two bottles of Vodka and half-empty ice tray in there before shutting that as well.

“Then call for takeout.” 007 stands from the couch and walks over to Q in the kitchen, for a second Q is reminded exactly why the man is one of the most feared person in the business.

“Your hospitality is overwhelming.” Q says drily and tries not to look intimidated.

“It’s not my job to be hospitable.” 007 says, “I think you’ve mistaken the profession of assassins with nannies.”

“You must excuse me then,” Q huffs, “I thought the position of taking care of somebody seemed rather more apt as a description of a nanny rather than an assassin.”

“You know I can kill you in any one of ten ways and make it look like an accident.” 007 has the art of asking a question without making it sound like a question. 

“Only ten?” Q raises an eyebrow. He is acutely aware of exactly how much muscle 007 has, and how easily it would be for his necks to be snapped in half.

“There’s a good Indian place that delivers.” James takes a small step back away from Q and smiles in a way that makes Q wonder if he’s just been put through an elaborate prank.

“Well…Good then.” Q doesn’t know what he’s approving, and he knows he flinches when 007 reaches across him to pick up the phone the same way he knows 007 smirks when he does.

“So, Quartermaster.” 007 says as he puts down the phone after ordering food, “Tell me about yourself.”

“Is this a background check for M? I’d think it’s already been done by now.” Q decides against starting a new program from scratch and instead opts to hack into his bank to move some funds around. Ten seconds later HSBC is slightly poorer and Q marginally richer. He doesn’t do this often, only as a habitual way of stress relief. He never really takes more than he can spend in a month anyway; he’s paid more than enough regularly.

“The tongue in cheek was amusing at first, but is now getting annoying.” James says and gives Q a warning look. “You should answer my question.”

“Tell me about yourself then, we wouldn’t want to create an information vacuum.” Q can’t read people very well. He can do well enough to not get himself killed in dire situations, of course. But not well enough that he can tell when he’s being tested and when he’s close to crossing an actual line.

“You already know my name.” 

“Yes…James Bond.” Q tests out the name on his tongue, and isn’t surprised that it sounds rather nice.

“You could do me the courtesy of telling me yours.” Apparently 007 is opposed to framing his sentences in the forms of questions. Everything comes out a statement, a command.

“Q will do just fine.” Q replies, “I will tell you that I’m from Clifton.”

“Yes, I gathered.” 007 sounds like he has all the patience in the world. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m an orphan. I hacked the system to get out of it when I was 12. This is the second time I’m in London, the last time was when I was 5 and coming to meet a potential foster family.” Q shrugs, he’s picking and choosing the harmless information he can divulge without giving too much of himself away, “I like spicy food and chocolate. My favorite books are the Harry Potter series.”

“Girlfriend not following you to London then.” 007 doesn’t seem to be thrown off by Q’s deluge of information.

“No.” 

“So you’re single now.”

“Yes.”

“You’re looking to start something.”

It frustrates Q that 007 simply does not ask questions. He says things as if he expects that they are or will be if only because he has said so.

“No. I’m not.”

“You’re lying.” 

Q frowns and prepares himself to tell off 007 for the sheer nerve of assuming to know his thoughts, but the doorbell rings and cuts him off before he can stop.

Nobody can blame Q for marveling at his life when one of the most feared assassins in the country brings him curry. He is amazed enough at the fact that he forgets about his rant on how assassins should not presume to know more about Q’s feelings than Q himself. Of course by the time he remembers, a sufficient amount of time has passed that it would be awkward to bring it up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben Whishaw is from Clifton, Bedfordshire in case you were wondering where that came from.


	3. the rhythm of Glenn Miller

Q took 007’s bed that evening. He woke up in the middle of the night when 007 climbed into the bed.

“The couch is killing my back.” The man simply says and slips under the covers. Q is too sleepy to properly process the information, so he closes his eyes and fall back to sleep, opting to deal with it in the morning.

When he wakes up next it’s light outside and the other side of the bed is empty.

“I have to go take care of some business today.” 007 says when Q emerges from the bedroom, “You are to come with me.”

“I have work to do too.” Q says with a frown. “I can’t just follow you around for the day. Isn’t the point of this whole thing that you would be following me around?”

“Unless your work also happens to be taking the Falcon out of the picture, I doubt it can’t be put off.” 007 says this casually, as if the Falcon wasn’t one of the best information source in the business and didn’t at any given time of the day have a small army around him as his personal security detail.

“And if I get killed during your errand?” Q scratches his nose, a sign of nervousness that he picked up when he was little. “Aren’t you supposed to keep me safe?”

“It’ll be safest when you’re with me.” 007 shrugs like he’s not suggesting that Q tags along on a near suicidal assassination mission, “If you die it’ll be because I’m dead. If I die they’ll find you and kill you anyway, so the outcome won’t change too much.”

“Thanks, that’s reassuring.” Q looks down at his pajamas, which consists of an old tee-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he had borrowed from 007 last night, “I suppose I should get dressed properly for this. If I die I would at least want my corpse to look presentable.”

“If you’d like.” 007 shrugs again and flips the page of the newspaper he’s reading. He’s already in a crisp Tom Ford suit that Q is sure he had seen models wear on the runway not a week previous.

“When you’re done with the errand I need to go shopping.” Q snaps as he realizes he has nothing but the clothes he had worn yesterday. Briefly he pauses to wonder if the reason all the double-oh’s dress so well is because they want their corpses to look presentable, and seeing as how they can die at any given moment, they have very little choice in how they dress.

He chuckles at the thought, and ignores the curious look 007 sends him.

007 parks his car in across the street from a tall office building, and tells Q to stay in the car no matter what. He tells Q that there’s a gun in the glove compartment, and leaves him the car keys. 

“Come back.” Q says just as 007 shuts the door on the driver’s side of the car, and he can’t really tell if 007 heard him or not.

Q sits in the car, there’s not a lot to do. He toys with the idea of turning on the radio, but is irrationally afraid that this will draw undue attention to the car and stops himself. He tries to read on the kindle app on his phone but fails to concentrate and just ends up flipping through the pages. He attempt to hack into surveillance system in the building across the street from him using the phone, but realizes that he doesn’t know if 007 actually went into the building or not.

Q gives up and just stares out the window after about 5 minutes. He knows his hands are fidgeting, it’s another nervous habit that he has. Q tries to keep an ear out for any gun shots, but hears none for the longest time. He supposes that 007 would be smart enough to use a muffler on the gun.

After about 40 minutes, 007 slides into the car easily as he had left. They drive off in silence, there is no disturbance anywhere Q can see.

“How did it go?” Q asks after a while.

“It was fine.” 007 says, he reaches out to turn on the radio in the car and his fingers start tapping to the rhythm of Glenn Miller that comes spilling out of the stereos. “Where do you want to go to shop?”

“I don’t know.” Q says honestly, “Where do you think I should go?”

“I’ll introduce you to my tailor.” 007 says after a moment of silence. 

Neither of them speak for the rest of the trip.


	4. It's all relative

It surprises Q that 007’s tailor seems normal. The man is sharply dressed and to the point. Very direct with a detached politeness that Q likes in a tailor.

That is, until Q notices the gun neatly tucked into the man’s waistband. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at the sight, because of course the tailor of one of the most feared assassins in the business would be carrying a gun.

“Do you know anyone who doesn’t carry a gun on an everyday basis?” Q muses when he gets in the car with again with 007. He doesn’t really expect an answer, and it was more of him blurting out the question before he can stop himself than any thoughtfulness on his part.

“You.” 007 answers simply. The car is filled with the sounds of Glenn Miller when the engine starts again, and Q finds himself relaxing into the seat.

“Where are we going?” Q asks once he notices that they’ve taken two sharp turns in the last 20 seconds

“Nowhere for now, until I can shake the tail.” 007 declares as if he’s telling Q they’re going to the grocery store. “Unbuckle your seatbelt.”

“I think they usually tell you the opposite.” Q quips, but does what he’s told.

“If the car is shot at it’ll be easier for you to get out before it explodes.”  007 explains patiently, and Q feels like he’s once again in grade school being told that wearing a helmet when he’s riding a bike will save his life someday.

“Are we going to be shot at?” Q asks. He’s not worried or afraid, more annoyed at this turn of events than anything else. He finds that he’s not even cross with 007, but instead finding his frustrations directed at those tailing them.

“We may be.” 007 says and spares a glance into the rearview mirror. There are two cars tailing them so long as Q can tell, and he wonders if 007 knows who their tails are.

“I thought you said I would be safe with you.” Q complains, he’s mostly whining for the sake of whining, and thinks briefly that it may be a bad idea to distract 007 during a car chase.

“You are the safest with me.” 007 says with a small smirk. If he’s bothered by Q’s talking he doesn’t show it at all, “It’s all relative.”

“Are we being chased by Falcon’s men?” Q turns around in his seat and strains his neck to get a better look at the car behind him. There’s a hand on his shoulder that turns him back to face the front, a surprisingly gentle but firm hand.

“We’re not being chased, we’re being tailed.” 007 nearly sounds offended, “I don’t get chased.”

“Are we being tailed by Falcon’s men then?” Q knows it’s safer not to look back and keep his eyes in front. He vaguely recalls somebody in the business telling him it’s always better not to make eye contact.

“No. Falcon’s men are dead.” 007 makes a u-turn in a place where cars have no business making u-turns, and Q thinks for the brief second that their car crosses path with the car that’s tailing them, he can see the look of absolute frustration that’s on the other driver’s face.

“Not all of them.” Q scoffs.

“All of them.” 007 states, like correcting a rudimentary math mistake of a small child, he’s simply stating a fact.

“Oh…” Q lets him mouth open and close a few times, “You were very efficient with your time then.”

There’s nothing else to say about it. 007 was gone from the car for all about 40 minutes, and if all Falcon’s men are dead then he must have taken out at least 30 of them in that time frame, if not more.

“It’s what they pay me for.” 007 says, and despite the complete lack of any emotion from him (just stating another fact), Q can’t help but feel a sense of sadness at this.

“You’re not just a killing machine.” Q says, almost as if he’s scolding a child.

007 doesn’t say anything. They soon drive into a somewhat crowded lot and 007 parks, then turns to look at Q expectantly.

“Yes?” Q raises an eyebrow after a moment of silence. He’s not sure if there’s something that 007 expects him to do.

“You said you needed to shop. This is a grocery store.” There’s a hint of amusement in 007’s voice and Q mentally kicks himself for not noticing this.

“I thought we were trying to get away from bad people.”

“We have. Now we’re here.” 007 opens his door first, and waits for Q to get out of the car before getting out himself. “Let’s make this quick. I have to report back after this.”

“Fine.” Q huffs, and mentally goes over the list of things he needs to get.

“They’re not bad people. That was the Interpol tailing us.” James says softly as they walk toward the entrance of the store, and Q berates himself for being surprised by this.


	5. Nobody has ever called me nice before

It turns out that Q needs more things than he thought he would. He ends up buying enough to fill the trunk of James’s car.

He tries to reason that it’s not his fault 007 doesn’t stock his pantries and since he’s living there it’s only fair that 007 ends up paying for everything. He does not feel guilty when he puts the box of organic fair-trade dark chocolate in the shopping cart that costs more than any chocolate has right to cost.

“007. Can we stop for food before we go back?” Q asks when he slips into the car.

“I’ve told you my name is James.” 007 says, and slows down marginally, “What do you want to eat?”

“You’re the one who lives here.” Q shrugs.

“There’s a good burger place nearby.” 007 says, and turns the car into what Q can assume to be the direction of said burger place.

“So, do you do this often?” Q scratches his nose absent-mindedly.

“It is my job. So yes.” 007 says, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh I didn’t mean…” Q falters, “I meant just grocery runs.”

“In that case no.” 007 snorts, “No, I don’t do grocery runs often.”

“But you do do other things often.” Q reiterates.

“If you’re asking if I kill people often, I’ve already told you yes.” 007 sounds strangely amused by the turn of conversation. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” Q says a little bit too quickly. “I mean, yes. A little. But I think, well you’re very good at it.”

“That’s what they tell me.” 007 murmurs, “You sound too innocent to have been in this business long.”

“I’m not innocent.” Q all but pouts, “And I’ve been in the business long enough. You can be in this business and not like killing people.”

“If you say so.” 007 says drily.

“I mean to say, you don’t like killing people. Nobody likes killing people. You just happen to be good at it.” Q frowns, and he realizes that he’s babbling a little.

“You don’t know that I don’t like it.” 007 says a little too sharply for Q’s comfort, and not for the first time Q realizes that he’s in a car with a trained killer. A trained killer who is exceptionally good at his job.

“You don’t like it. You’re too nice.” Q thinks back to when they were in the grocery store and 007 graciously gave his spot in line to an elderly woman, then later to a pregnant lady with a toddler.

“I’m too nice.” James repeats with a sense of wonder.

“Too nice to like killing people. Not to say you’re a nice person.” Q rolls his eyes, “But I’m sure under all those layers you’re cuddly as a teddy bear.”

“You’re pushing the line.” 007’s voice sounds more intrigued than anything else.

“Hitting a little too close to home?” Q gives 007 what can only be characterized as a dazzling smile.

“Nobody has ever called me nice before.” 007 states, and that’s the end of that conversation.

   


	6. I thank you

The burger place was good. It was not exceptional, but it was good and filling and when 007 paid their bill with cash Q did not complain.

When they get back to the apartment, Q spends about 10 minutes organizing the pantries and filling the fridge. 007 is out on the balcony on a call with somebody, and the place feels strangely empty.

There’s no touch of warmth, no sign that a human being lives in the apartment. The place is plain, utilitarian.

Q deems it appropriate to point this out to 007 when he comes back in from the call.

“There’s nothing in your apartment that you don’t need.” He says, and wonders if he conveys what he means at all, “You have nothing decorative.”

“Well, there’s you.” 007 says with a sigh and looks Q up and down. “I have very little need for a Quartermaster.”

Q chooses to ignore that comment. Instead he turns on his laptop and begins working a pet project of his, running a coding program and typing at such a speed that his fingers appear to be a blur on the keyboard.

“Come here 007.” He says without looking up from his screen.

“My name is James.” 007 says, but walks over to where Q is sitting anyway. “I really do must insist that you call me by it.”

“Sure, come here.” Q waves a hand in the air without looking, and nearly hits 007 in the face.

“Something I can assist you with?” 007 says with a smirk.

“Your hand please.” Q holds out a hand impatiently.

“I’m sorry?” 007 sounds incredulous and Q mentally congratulates himself for finally getting the man to be anything but unflappable.

“Your hand, 007.” Q finally turns to give him a look that he used on his dogs when he was a child and they refused to obey his commands.

“My name is - ”

“James, yes I know.” Q sighs rather dramatically, “Your hand, please, James.”

007’s hand is warm, it’s calloused from god knows what, but it’s warm and dry and feels good in Q’s hand for a brief moment.

He presses James’s hand down onto a pad next to his laptop, it quickly scans the man’s palm print and feeds it through the program that Q is working on. A second later a chip is ejected from the laptop that Q carefully holds in his fingers then inserts into a gun that he pulls out of his bag.

“What did you just do?” 007 asks, his voice on edge.

“It’s a gun, 007. You must be familiar with these.” Q rolls his eyes, “Here, consider it a gift.”

“You’ve never handled guns.” 007 says with a frown and gingerly takes the gun from Q’s hand, “And you seem to forget my name at an alarming rate.”

“James, yes I know.” Q sighs exasperatedly, “That is a PPK/S nine-millimeter short, it’s now coded to your palm print so only you can fire it. Less of a random killing machine and more of a …personal statement, wouldn’t you say?”

“Regardless,” Q watches as James wraps his hand around the grip and the lights turn green. “You realize you’re not supposed to hand a gun to anyone pointing it at them.”

“It’s not loaded.” Q sighs, “I have common sense.”

“Noted.” James looks the gun over carefully then makes a noise that Q takes to mean satisfaction.

“It’s a good gun.” Q has been brought up with an extensive knowledge of weapons, has always prided himself on being able to match up a person with a gun that would best fit them. It is, after all, in the rather traditional job description of being a Quartermaster.

007 gives him an amused look, “Yes, it is what I use.”

“It’s…it’s what you use now?” Q raises an eyebrow, then breaks out into a smirk, “You have good taste, Mr. Bond.”

“Indeed.” 007 says in a voice that is much silkier than Q is used to.

“Yes, well I…” Q licks his lips subconsciously, “It’s a gift.”

“I thank you.” 007 leans down and whispers in Q’s ear. The gun has disappeared somewhere in the folds of his suit and Q is for a moment curious about the man under the suit.


	7. I like you too. Thanks.

 

Life with 007 is surprisingly domestic and uneventful. The couple of times that he goes to take care of things, Q goes with him and waits quietly in the car. They go out for food after, and Q pretends he doesn’t notice the tense lines of 007’s shoulders that takes a couple of hours to get rid of.

And then a pipe bursts in the middle of the night, drenching him and his bed, and flooding his room. Q wakes up with a terrified scream at the first spray of cold water in his face, and a second later 007 is in with a gun.

“Your apartment is trying to kill me.” Q says as he shuffles out of bed and towards the door. He’s acutely aware, more than any other moment, that his shirt and boxers and soaked and he may as be naked in front of a trained killer (who sleeps in just a pair of boxers). Q makes an attempt at controlling the flush of his face, but gives up after feeling the familiar burning sensation of a blush.

“Don’t be dramatic. Go shower.” 007 mutters, his eyes still scanning the room as if expecting something to jump out any second.

“There’s nobody in there, it’s just a faulty pipe.” Q mumbles as he walks to the bathroom, dripping water all over 007’s expensive looking hardwood floor.

“Go shower before you get sick.” 007 growls. He starts walking into the room to see what can be done about the pipe now leaking water everywhere.

When Q steps out of the shower, he realizes, of course, that he did not have the brain capacity at 3am after being woken by a cold spray of water to bring an extra change of clothes with him into the bathroom. And that, of course, means he has no choice but to wrap a towel around himself.

By the time he steps out of the bathroom, 007 has two cups of steaming tea sitting on the kitchen counter, and is looking rather bored.

“I’ve sealed off the pipe, but somebody will have to come in and look at it tomorrow.” 007 says matter-of-factly. “You can sleep in my room tonight.”

“But…where will you sleep?” Q is rubbing his eyes and sipping on chamomile tea, with all the brain power of a 6 year old.

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s a king-sized bed.” 007 snorts, “and you’re a tiny little thing.”

“I’m not - ” Q sighs mid sentence, “I’m normal sized. Thank you.”

007 looks him over appraisingly, and frowns, “No, definitely not.”

“Hey, I can take you!” Q huffs in annoyance. Maybe it’s the strangeness of the situation, or it being 3 am in the morning, but Q is absolutely sure at any other given time he would have said anything but that.

A second after the words left his mouth, he was pinned against the kitchen counter, his body flush against 007.

“I suppose there’s something that’s not tiny about you.” 007 whispers against Q’s ear, and drops his gaze for a brief moment, “Your towel’s slipped.”

“Yes well I - ” Q begins to say something, and he’s sure if given the chance he could actually spit out a relatively coherent sentence. But 007 doesn’t give him that chance, because warm lips are on his in the next moment and Q loses all track of his thoughts.

007 is a surprisingly gentle kisser. There was no aggression, no pent up anger or overwhelming eagerness. It was a kiss, not the most earth-shattering one Q has had, but nonetheless thoroughly enjoyable. When the kiss ends Q finds that his towel has dropped to the floor at some point, and his arms are wrapped around 007’s neck.

“I think we’ll fit on to my bed just fine, don’t you?” 007 trails a finger along Q’s jaw line and nips softly at Q’s neck.

“Mhm, sure.” Q breathes out, and he hardly recognizes his own voice.

 

When Q wakes up the next morning he’s pleasantly sore and alone in a king sized bed. He picks up a pair of pants next to the bed that are most certainly not his, but hangs on to hips just barely so.

“Um, morning.” He says as he walks into the kitchen, and Q flushes at just how coarse his own voice sounds.

“I thought you might want to sleep in.” 007 says and offers Q a soft smile, “The kettle’s on for tea.”

“Oh, um. Thanks.” Q smiles. He’s not very sure about how to conduct himself, but also gets the feeling that 007 doesn’t really know either. “So…about last night?”

“About last night.” 007 repeats and looks at Q expectantly.

“What do you think?” Q throws it back to 007. He doesn’t want to be the first one to start this conversation.

“I thought it was quite excellent.” 007 says, as if commenting on the weather, “I should hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.”

“I - ” Q opens his mouth and frowns, he’s not sure if he can talk about sex like it’s a matter of business, but he can try at least, “It was very enjoyable for me as well.”

“Good, so we’ll continue with this then.” 007 nods once, satisfied.

“Continue with what?” Q pulls the chair and sits down.

“Our relationship, you said you enjoyed it.” 007 frowns slightly, “You don’t want to?”

It is perhaps the first time that Q has ever heard 007 ask a question in a non-statement form, and he can’t help but smile.

“Our…relationship?” Q raises an eyebrow, “How do you define our relationship?”

“I would define it as how any normal person would.” James says and sips on his coffee.

“And how is that?” Q asks.

“A relationship between two men who …” 007 pauses (because 007 doesn’t falter in his speech), “who are intimate with each other and - ”

“You don’t know anything about relationships.” Q says a little more triumphantly than he should, “You’re just as bullocks at this as I am.”

“Well it must help that neither of us are experienced then.” James puts down the paper he’s been holding onto the table. “What do you propose?”

“We can try this,” Q shrugs. He’s not entirely sure how intelligent it is to get into a relationship with a trained killer (who kills on a more than regular basis, mind you), but Q supposes it can’t be worse than his last boyfriend (his high school chemistry lab partner who declared after kissing Q that he’s straight and told anyone who would listen that Q is gay).  

“Good. I need to take care of some things today. We leave after you finish your breakfast.” 007 says, and Q notes a pleased tone in his voice.

“007.” Q says after a moment of silently buttering his toast, “I need you to answer a question.”

“I should think that after last night you would start calling me by my name.” 007 (no, not 007 anymore), James says with a discrete eye roll.

“James then, answer me.” Q purses his lips, “Do you like me? Or are you just doing this because we had sex and you think it’s the right thing to do.”

“I don’t know how highly you think of my morals, Q. But I can assure you, I kill people for a living, so they are not in fact that high. You’re no blushing virgin who needs that kind of treatment, and I’m not some English gentleman who will ask for your hand in marriage because we had sex.” When James says this, he actually sounds much more amused than anything else.

“Oh, well then…” Q ducks his head and chews on his toast to avoid having to say anything else intelligent.

“Yes, I do like you.” James says after watching Q chew silently for much longer than necessary.

 “Good.” Q nods as he swallows, “Good then. Um… I like you too. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” James says with a smirk. “Now, eat faster. People aren’t just going to drop dead by themselves.” 


End file.
